


Tutor Me In the Ways of the Heart and Also, Potions

by wrote_and_writ



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 04:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17379854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrote_and_writ/pseuds/wrote_and_writ
Summary: Draco tutors Harry in potions work, but Harry realizes he wants more.





	Tutor Me In the Ways of the Heart and Also, Potions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magpie_fngrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpie_fngrl/gifts).



> Happy Birthday to my best fangirl, magpie_fngrl!  
> I really wish I was better at coming up with titles.

“Good god, Potter, _crush_ the seed pods. Crush them!”

“I _am,_ Malfoy!”

Draco takes Harry’s knife gently and nudges him aside. “You’re slicing these. Using the long, sharp edge of a knife is literally slicing.” He turns the knife so the broad end of the handle points to the table. “If you insist on using this stupid knife for everything, then use the end of the handle for crushing seeds. You have to break down the husk to make a fine powder. Alternatively, you could use a mortar and pestle, like a normal wizard.”

Harry bites back a sarcastic retort. He is grateful that Draco even talks to him, let alone gives up his Saturday mornings to tutor him in potions. 

Harry gives a silent _thank you_ to his favorite “potion,” Prozac, for allowing him the space to breathe, which stops him from grabbing Draco by the lapels and shaking him. Harry’s mind wanders back to the first time he met Mrs. Granger, the absolute, glorious, flying fury of her trapping McGonnagall in her office and shouting for thirty minutes about trauma and therapy and counselors. 

“...a fine powder -- that means no crumbly bits of husk, Potter -- and scrape it into the cauldron, and -- Damn it, Harry!”

Harry’s attention swings back to Draco. The boy’s elegant fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. He looks exhausted, and Harry feels a twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

“Sorry, Malfoy,” he mutters. Harry takes a breath. “Look, my brain is porridge, D’you wanna go to Hogsmeade? I’ll buy you lunch.”

Draco’s face has a strange expression, a fleeting sadness he quickly covers with a carefully blank look. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Potter,” Draco says at last, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t mind. Honestly. I owe you at least lunch.”

“That’s not --” Draco sighs. “Look, if we’re done for the day, I’m just going to --” He stands abruptly. “You can clean up here, right?” He doesn’t wait for Harry to respond. He turns and leaves without another word.

“Draco, wait--” Harry starts to go after him, but the cauldron emits a belch of black smoke, then catches fire, and by the time Harry has everything under control and makes it down to the courtyard, Draco is gone.

“Harry, hi!” 

Harry turns and crashes directly into Zacharias Smith. 

“Zac, have you seen Draco?”

Zacharias stiffens and steps back. “Why would I be seen with Malfoy?” he spits, his voice full of venom and bitterness.

Harry grimaces. “Never mind. Look, I have to go. See you at dinner, yeah?”

“Sure,” Zacharias says, but his look tells Harry a different story. 

“Stupid, Potter,” Harry mutters as he begins to head back into the castle. He knows that Draco is the frequent target of leftover grief and anger. He knows better, but he let himself believe that if he could be friends with Draco, everyone else would be, too. But were they even friends? Harry stops at the side door to Gryffindor tower, uneasy thoughts trying to make their way to the front of his consciousness, thoughts he had, until recently, successfully kept confined to the darkest hours of night, when he would wake from a nightmare and calm himself with images of people he loves and things that bring him joy, thoughts in which Draco was playing an ever-increasing role.

“Damn it.” Harry turns back to the courtyard. It’s a gray and dismal November morning. Few people are out, no doubt choosing to curl up by hearths and play cards or read or relax. He should go inside, go to the common room, catch up on the gossip, and just be eighteen, be a student. But, just as it begins to rain in earnest, Harry catches sight of a tall blond boy, wrapped in a heavy gray cloak, heading purposefully into the woods.

Harry has to sprint to catch Draco before he passes the boundary into the Forbidden Forest. Not that the terrors of the forest have a hold on either of them any more. Still, it’s not the best place for traipsing about on a cold and rainy day. If nothing else, the risk of catching cold or slipping on a pile of moldering leaves and twisting an ankle are high.

“Draco!”

Draco turns and glares at Harry. “What do you want, Potter?”

“I--” Harry drops a hand that was reaching for Draco. What _does_ he want? He hasn’t thought of anything besides finding Draco, and now that he has him…

“Well?”

“I, I wanted to see if you were alright,” Harry says lamely. 

“Right as rain.” 

Draco gives him nothing to work with, and Harry grits his teeth in frustration. 

“Look, Draco, I know things aren’t --”

Draco holds up a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there, Potter. Whatever you think you know, you don’t, okay?”

“Draco--”

“I don’t want your pity or charity or whatever this,” he waves a hand at Harry, at the forest, at the world, “is, alright? I’m just here to finish my schooling, and then I’m gone. So let’s not do whatever it is you wanted to do. Let’s just get through this year, yeah?”

Harry feels the weight of Draco’s pain despite the casual words, and something in him snaps. He gives in, grabs Draco’s lapels, and shakes him. Then, he kisses Draco. 

Harry isn’t sure who is more shocked, but some twisted part of his mind wishes he could take a picture of the look on Draco’s face right now, and in that moment, the small, absurd desire to laugh keeps him from falling apart, or falling on Draco.

“Why?” It’s the only thing Draco can say. “Why?”

“Why what? Why you? Or why did I kiss you?”

“Both.” Draco’s carefully composed facade of calm is cracking before Harry’s eyes, and he begins to regret his actions except that he finds he wants to do it again. And again.

“Draco,” Harry starts, but he doesn’t know how to say it. He doesn’t know how to frame this desire that has lived inside him for, well, years. He’s only just begun to admit to himself the space he wants Draco to fill in his life, and only then in the dark, quiet hours when the castle seems to sleep. He has no idea how to make Draco understand when he’s standing there, inches from Harry, rain soaking them both. So Harry does what he always does when the words won’t come. He acts.

This time, he’s gentle and deliberate. He leaves his hands at his sides when he kisses Draco, leaving him room to back away, to escape if that’s what he wants. 

Draco closes his eyes and leans into the kiss, though he makes no move to hold Harry or touch him beyond the kiss. 

“Why?” he asks again when they stop to catch their breaths.

“I don’t know,” Harry admits. “I just feel this...I don’t know, Draco. I wish I could tell you, make you understand, but I just, I don’t know.”

Draco gives him half a smile. “Well, words were never your forte, Potter. Harry.” He blushes, or maybe he’s cold because the rain is really bucketing down now. Harry can see their breaths cloud between them. But he feels a trill of joy when Draco calls him “Harry.”

“Are you, is this, I mean, was that okay?”

Draco cocks an eyebrow but doesn’t rush in to save Harry from his leaden tongue. Harry suppresses the urge to shake him. 

“What I’m trying to say is, you don’t mind, do you? Are you mad?”

“Mad? Merlin, Harry,” Draco laughs, the closest thing to genuine mirth Harry’s heard from Draco in ages. “I’m trying to decide if I’m awake or if I’ve fallen into some sort of fever dream, because even in my wildest fantasies, I wouldn’t dare believe that you would kiss me of your own free will. Ergo, I’m probably dead. And fucking finally.”

“What do you mean, finally?” Harry asks.

Draco’s shoulders drop and Harry steps closer and puts his hands on Draco’s cheeks. “Draco, what did you mean?”

“Come on, Potter,” Draco says, taking a step back from Harry. “Don’t make me say it. You’re thick, but I know you’re not a complete idiot.”

Harry feels his temper rise, but it’s not directed at Draco. He feels a helpless fury at the monsters he’s not allowed to slay, monsters that refuse to coalesce, to submit to an electric blast of magic, monsters that will stalk Draco, Harry, their classmates and friends and family for the rest of their lives. There’s nothing for him to punch, nothing for him to stab with a sword. 

“There it is,” Draco whispers. “I’ll just pretend this never happened, eh, Potter? We’ll call it a moment of madness, something we’re all allowed once in awhile, especially considering...anyway. Go back to the castle. I’m alright.” He pulls his cloak tighter and turns to go, but Harry grabs his hand.

“It’s not a moment of madness, Draco.” He reaches for Draco now, but Draco pulls away again. 

“It is, Potter. Trust me.” For the second time that morning, Draco turns to leave Harry behind, but this time, Harry’s courage does not desert him. 

“Draco, stop.” 

Draco turns back and looks expectant. Harry still hasn’t found the right words to explain things, to make Draco understand, so he puts everything he can into the next kiss. 

It goes on for ages, and Draco’s knees go weak. Harry catches him before they both sink into the wet leaves and detritus beneath the trees. Harry thinks Draco might be crying, or it might be the rain, but he kisses Draco’s eyelids and cheeks and lips again and again. He puts every question into a kiss, and Draco replies in kind. 

“Can we go back to the castle?” Harry says at last. 

“You go on. I’ll wait a bit and follow. I’m sure you don’t want--”

“Now who’s the thick one?” Harry says, temper giving his words an edge. “I don’t give a shit what people think of me. They have no right, none at all, not after what I did. What we did. I’m done. I’m ready to live, to be happy, and you’re part of that, alright?”

“Potter--”

“Harry. Call my Harry.”

“Harry.” Draco shivers. “Harry. Are you sure?”

“Draco,” he says, taking the boy’s hand in his and bringing it to his lips, “you know I’m all action and no words.” He smiles and kisses Draco’s hand again, and then his brain finally catches up with him. “Draco,” he says, and his voice changes. “I’m in if you are. All in.”

Draco’s eyes close, and Harry can practically see him gather the shreds of his courage. “I can’t want this, Harry. I can’t have this.”

“Yes, you can. I’m giving it to you. Freely.” He kisses Draco. “I don’t care how long it takes, but I will make you believe me.”

“Harry, I just, I need some time. This is insanity.”

“Do you want me, Draco?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It can be.”

Draco laughs bitterly. “Of course it isn’t, you foolish, lovely, wonderful idiot.”

“What can I do to make you believe me?”

Draco traces a hand tentatively along Harry’s arm. When Harry doesn’t pull away, Draco takes his hand. “Give me time, please?”

Harry wants to argue, but he finds the space to stop and breathe, and a spark of understanding begins to burn. 

“Of course,” he says. “We really should get back to the castle, though, or --”

“Or you won’t get your potions homework finished, which is why you came out to get me, yes?”

Harry frowns and nods. “If that’s what you want right now, Draco.”

Draco radiates pure relief, and Harry feels a stab of pain, but he pushes it aside. Draco wasn’t saying no. He wasn’t pushing Harry away. Harry could be patient. 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course. Can I kiss you again, before we go in?”

“Only if you make it quick,” Draco says, his eyes alight. “It’s really very cold out here.”

“I suppose you can show me how to mix something to warm us up, when we go inside.”

“I might know a potion or two,” Draco concedes. He grins, and Harry kisses him once more in the woods. 

“I wonder,” Harry asks as they amble back to the castle, close but not touching, “if you have room in your schedule for another tutoring session or two? I really am hopeless with potions.”

Draco nods, a slow smile spreading on his face. “And I know how you can pay me back.”

“Oh?” Harry catches Draco’s smile and allows himself a surge of hope.

“Yes. You know I can’t summon a patronus with any sort of consistency. I think, maybe, if I had some more happy memories, I might be able to summon a really good one. What do you think?”

“I think,” Harry says, leaning against a tree at the edge of the woods and pulling Draco to him, “I can probably help you there.” He kisses Draco once, swiftly. The voices of their classmates filter through the trees, muted but close. “I certainly owe you for all the help you’re giving me with potions.”

“We have a deal, then, Potter.”

“Harry. Call me Harry.”

Draco smiles again. “Harry.”


End file.
